Red crisp hands, yellow vine wine, the city is full of spring scenery and willows on the palace walls. The east wind is evil, happiness is thin, a cup of melancholy leaves me alone for a few years. Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!
Spring is as old as ever, people are thin and empty, and the tears are red and raw. The peach blossoms have fallen, and the pavilion is idle. Although the mountain alliance is there, it is difficult to hold the brocade book. Mo, mo, mo!